"What do you want for Christmas?"
The child on Santa's lap began a recitation of toys and gadgets that television had persuaded him were cool to have.
Jenna Ritter stood at a distance. The scene did not delight or amuse her. What did she want for Christmas? Charles Ritter of course. Charles in the flesh, by her side, as he had been a week ago.
Charles had died on December 10th. It was a senseless accident. He'd gone to the grocery and been hit by a drunk driver. Jenna had not wanted to believe the officer who knocked at their door that afternoon. But there was no sick joke; Charles was dead; his wife of ten years was suddenly, utterly alone.
She looked down at the shopping bags in her hands. They were full of gifts she had bought for him. It had seemed oddly sensical to return them. She looked at the happy child. She looked at the bags of gifts.
Nothing made any sense any more. She turned and left the mall, bumping into other shoppers as she blazed toward the exit. Nothing mattered any more, except that Charles was dead. She dropped the bags of gifts by the garbage bin.
Yes, Charles Ritter was dead to the world. Jenna should have been the first to attest to that fact: her fist had dropped a rose on his casket and the men had shoveled in the dirt.
Christmas was a piece of dog doo, in fact it was a great steaming heap. Jenna hired a cleaning service to take down the Christmas tree while she was at work. She instructed them to remove all decorations. "Make my living room look as if it's April."
They thought that was odd, but charged her credit card just the same.
She refused all invitations. When people insisted, she hung up on them. Emails got the delete key. Jenna wanted no part of Christmas. She worked until it was time for the break, went home, and waited for it to pass.
When April finally did roll around, a funny thing happened. Jenna had just gotten home from work. She dropped into the chair that had been her husband's favorite and sobbed, as she frequently did. The box of tissues was growing pathetically empty, she noticed, and snatched another one and blew her nose.
She leaned back and stared into the gathering shadows of the living room. Turning on the light had no particular appeal.
Then she heard his voice inside her head.
"Jenna."
Her dead husband's voice rang as clear and true as if he were right there beside her.
"Charles!"
She jumped up, looking for him. "Charles, where are you? I can't see you!"
"I can't appear physically. I'm in your mind, in your brain."
"Am I crazy?" Jenna sat down again, still looking around for him, despite what he had just told her.
"No," laughed Charles. "You're the only one who can hear me, but I assure you, I'm real."
"I miss you! I
miss
you!!" Jenna began sobbing afresh. She rocked back and forth on the sofa, hugging herself and crying piteously.
Charles' arms wrapped around her in a warm hug. His neck touched hers as he whispered words of love and comfort. She felt his face. The vertical scar below one eye made her certain. This was her husband. It was really and truly him.
Her first instinct was to burrow into his chest, bury herself as deeply into the longed-for embrace as she could. Then she pulled back with a frightened yelp! Nothing was holding her; nothing was there.
"Charles, I'm so confused," she whispered. Tears choked her voice and ran freely down her cheeks.
He sighed. "You can hear me, right?"
"Yes..."
"Okay, now listen carefully as I'm speaking. Where does my voice seem to come from."
Jenna furrowed her brow. "Inside my head."
"Does the sound seem to originate from somewhere in the room?"
"No." She swung her head around, trying to get a bead on the source. There was no external beacon.
"Okay now, my darling, think back to your classes on human physiology. How do you know when you are touching anything?"
"Nerve endings in the skin. I still don't understand."
Charles sighed again. "The nerves send a message to the brain, do they not? And the brain tells you that the touch is real."
Jenna finally got it. "So because you're in my brain, you can fool my nerves into thinking they are touching you physically?"
"Something like that."
"Then why not everything else? Why can't you fix it so I can see you?"
"The technical answer is, I don't know. I only know I can do some things, but not others. But I think I know the reason, if not the mechanics."
"Well tell me! What is it?"
"Jenna, my darling... you know we loved each other very much."
"Love, not loved. It isn't over. I still love you, I'll always love you. Don't you love me?"
An invisible finger touched her lips. "Wait. Please listen. Do you know what you've been like since I died?"
"Not so good, I guess."
"You've been terrible. Time for me happens more quickly unless I deliberately slow it down. I've watched you lose fifteen pounds by simply not eating. The weight is practically melting off your frame. You're frightening the children you teach. Your co-workers are worried sick about you."
Jenna squirmed. "I didn't mean to cause all that."
"I know you didn't, but Jenna, you've got to start taking care of yourself again. You've got to live, with or without me."
"Well, if you can be here — why not with you? I know it won't quite be the same, but if you're here with me, we can find some happiness together. Can't we?" Even as she asked the question, she sensed the answer.
"I'm sorry, baby. The deal is this. My purpose here is to help you get back on track. Once you've found your own joy in this world, I will move on, and so will you."
"But you were my joy in this world..." Tears ached in the widow's throat again, threatened, and spilled. "You were my joy in this world."
As she sat there weeping, the beloved arms embraced her again, and this time she did not draw back in fear. She sobbed until she wore herself out, like a child with a fever.
At last she let her husband's ghost lead her to bed.
The essence of Charles Ritter lay curled up beside his widow, giving her the comfort she so badly needed. The woman slept deeply.
He could feel the tangled, anguished state of Jenna's mind. Her brain was a dark thicket of grief and misery. Very gently, very carefully, he soothed little bits here and there, easing away burrs of fear and hopelessness. It would not be possible to change everything overnight. And he could not effect all of her healing — Jenna would have to reach a point where she wanted to help herself get better. But on this night, this first night of ghostly comfort, he could grant her a little peace.
Jenna slept straight through the night for the first time in over three months. She woke feeling rested. For once her mind was not frazzled with chronic, aching grief ... For a moment she merely blinked at the soft morning light. Then she remembered.
"Charles!"
"I'm right here."
"I thought I had a dream ... a really good dream, that you were alive again."
An invisible kiss pressed against her cheek. "I'm not really alive, darling, don't be fooled into thinking that. My happiness is tied to yours, and so until you move on, my spirit cannot let go, either. I'm just here to help you bridge the gap."
"So what you're really saying is you don't want to be here, you're just stuck here because of me." Jenna sounded very sad.
"Jenna, my love, you know that's not true. I love you very much and always wanted to be with you —"
"Wanted, past tense —"
"Please listen. Think of the phrase, 'Until death do us part.' There are some laws in the universe over which mortals have no control, and death is one of them. Once you cross over, who knows? We may be together again. But today, you are in the world of the flesh, and I am in limbo, neither here nor there."
"So all I have to do is kill myself? Then we can be together?"
"NO!! Jenna, please, don't even joke about that.
Please
."
"What, then?" The widow leaned back and stared out the window. She looked inconsolable. In a voice barely above a whisper, she asked, "Why can't you just stay with me?"
Charles snuggled next to her. She leaned her head on his shoulder in their old familiar pose of comfort. His hands softly patted her back.
